


Automatic Weapons

by Flora (florahart)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crack, Gen, barely-there clint/coulson, not-a-corgi Clint, rated R for ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/Flora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time, Clint is not a corgi, so that's a nice change of pace</p>
            </blockquote>





	Automatic Weapons

**Author's Note:**

> So, there's the (highly entertaining) trope wherein Clint or Coulson or both are transformed into corgis. Then I saw a prompt about wanting Clint to be a bigger dog, and somehow my brain opted to make him not a dog at all.
> 
> I have no idea. In my head, this is a Clint/Coulson story, but in the text, there's not so much of that. Roll with it.

Inexplicably, the earpiece was still in and working, so Clint heard the chatter go on for quite some time after everything went to shit, and it took Steve a while to notice this particular problem, possibly because neither of them was in any shape to report. "Coulson? Sir? Coulson? Hawkeye, you got a visual on Coulson? He's not responding. Hawkeye? Come in. Iron Man, can you see either of them? Coulson or Hawkeye?" 

Stark's voice came back, "Neg--wait, no, I see Coulson. He's down, vitals say not dead. Hang on, I'll go in for a closer look."

Clint sighed and relaxed a little from his protective stance. Then, for good measure, he backed off a few paces and cautiously sat down, partially sheltered by a discarded TV-tray table and out of Stark's immediate line of sight until he could make sure the situation was stable--and because he was a little shaky with reaction--or exhaustion, one of those. Okay, good, sitting still worked about the same way as it did when he was a corgi. 

This was probably actually worse than being a corgi. More undignified, anyway, not that dignity was really a word he figured people associated with him much. He shuffled forward a little so as to still keep a clear view of Phil and the mouth of the alley.

As Iron Man's thrusters set him down four feet on the far side of Phil, Clint wondered briefly whether there was any way for his life to get any more ridiculous, then quickly thought really hard that he didn't mean any such thing and definitely was not curious about that at all because right, no tempting fate.

"Coulson?" Stark flipped up his mask and looked around. Coulson was still down, knocked out by a whack on the head when a bullet to the shoulder spun him, and Clint sat quietly, waiting to see what would happen.

"Cap, Coulson's down, took a bullet but not bad... I'm guessing he hit his head. JARVIS say vitals are okay. No sign of Hawkeye, but, wait, okay, _what the hell._ "

Clint watched him clank over to the body of the bad guy and examine the situation. 

"Iron Man? What _what_ hell?"

"Dead guy in the corner apparently stabbed to death with ...JARVIS, that's not wire, looks organic, what _is_ that? Oh, right. Obviously. Apparently stabbed to death with _porcupine quills_ to the jugular, ten feet from where Coulson's on the ground. Jesus, I knew he was a badass, but--" 

Cap interrupted. "Right. Everything else is contained, and we're coming to you."

Tasha's voice came on, tight and worried. "Exact location?"

Stark told them where they were just as Phil winced and opened his eyes. "Agent! Back with us!"

"Situation better be contained, Stark, if you're here."

"Yep, all good, except we haven't figured out where Hawkeye went to ground. Tasha's looking for him. Also, where the fuck did you get quills?"

Phil pushed up onto his uninjured elbow and stared at the body. "I--that's the guy that shot me, but I didn't do that."

"O...kay. So we have a porcupine assassin on the premises." Tony flipped the mask down and swept his gaze up the alley. "And I'm guessing that's a porcupine. In Manhattan. Under a table in an alley. Awesome."

Clint snorted and ambled out, then dropped a bunch of quills (just as well that had happened instinctively the first time; he'd have been fucked if the natural weapon hadn't seriously fallen into his ...paw) and started chucking them at the laminate tabletop one after another, making the shape of an arrow. Then he looked back at Stark.

He lifted the faceplate again. "Seriously? Aren't you usually a little more canine?"

Clint picked up his paw and looked at it, concentrating, then offered a stunted and sloppy middle digit at Stark, who cackled and got back on the comm. "Found him! You guys aren't going to believe-- _hey_." Clint flicked another quill at Stark's face, then trundled over to Phil, carefully smoothing down his quills before snuggling up against Phil's hip while Stark de-quilled his left cheek.

"Any idea what did it?" Phil asked.

Clint waved his head side to side.

"So, no idea how long you're stuck like this."

He waved it again.

"Well, at least it's some variety?" Phil said. He pushed up further to sitting and scooted back a bit to lean against the dirty wall, then gestured. "Come here."

Clint sighed and climbed into Phil's lap. Dignity, no longer even possible.

"Wow, that's different," Cap said, striding into the alley and taking in the scene. "Hawkeye, I take it?"

Clint face...pawed and curled up tighter in Phil's lap, hoping the situation would resolve itself quickly, and also that this time when he returned to human form he wouldn't wind up bare-ass naked in Stark's lab.

Although... he considered for a minute then nodded to himself. When he got back to the tower, he was going to get Phil to help him drop as many quills as possible. He liked the weight of them and the way they threw, and he might as well get a new toy out of the deal.

Phil stroked his head. "Planning ways to use your new weapons?" he asked quietly. When Clint didn't answer besides an eyeroll--what and how was he going to say, seriously?--he added, "Wouldn't be you if you didn't."

Clint leaned up into his hand, then caught Cap's eye and stretched out one forelimb, pointing at Phil's gunshot would.

"They're on their way, Clint," Cap said. "We've got him."

Clint harrumphed and put his head down on Phil's belly to wait for the SHIELD EMTs. He really hoped today was Gunderson's day off; he'd never hear the end, again. Phil stroked his head once more, and Clint nestled in and closed his eyes. Cap was here to make sure everything was under control, after all, and being a porcupine was, evidently, exhausting.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware porcupines don't, despite the popular belief, actually fling their quills. But I mean, if they were sentient and skilled in flung weaponry, why would they not, right?


End file.
